This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

If Someone Asks to Interview You For An Article in The New York Times, You Might Want to Think Twice Because . . .

The amount of hate mail you might receive from high-minded Times readers could be a little daunting.

High-minded Times reader Leslie Morsillo, in an email titled “can’t help myself” says: “Found my way to your site via an article on blogs, so yours may be my first AND my last. My only suggestion is that you lose the camera, at least until you have something to say — the photographs have all the wit and soul of a Hallmark card. That’s the truth, sorry.”

To which I responded, sincerely: “does sending email like this make you feel better about yourself?”

High-minded Times reader Leslie Morsillo then responded: “why yes, doctor, thank you for asking. how much better do you feel by publicizng your impatience with the world and posting rambling insults to total strangers? for all the effort you put into your website, you should aim higher. in the meantime, go give blood.”

Generally, I try to ignore hate mail — something I get LOADS of anyway– because the world is so full of other hateful things that I don’t really need anything else to bring me down. But I couldn’t resist and responded: “my question to you, and i’m genuinely curious: what type of person takes precious time out of her day to send off an email full of rambling insults to a total stranger? did you take my website THAT seriously?”

And so I guess I have to point out here, and it pains me to do this, if you are one those people who are taking my website seriously, I think you’re missing THE WHOLE POINT.

You’re missing the point like high-minded Times reader Diana Blackham who told me in an email that my “online journal of a modern-day Mormon” was hardly worthwhile and that I could better spend my time reading something like http://dear_raed.blogspot.com/, a website I highly recommend if you’re looking for worthwhile reading, not if you’re looking for a website where someone publicly airs her impatience with the world.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to finding someone else I can call a cunt or pussy.

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